A Ghost Story
by AverageJack
Summary: Luitenant Mitchell, seasoned Goliath operator, finds himself on TheranGamma. In a nearby mountain range, Ghost recon units have reported a massive Zerg buildup. But even the many battles he has survived, has not prepared Mitchell for what comes next.
1. Chapter 1

**A Ghost Story**

Chapter 1

Consumed by the blinking lights and dials, lieutenant Robert 'Meatball' Mitchell sat in the seat of his Goliath MK-2. The darkness of the hanger covered everything outside the glimmering lights of the controls in his cockpit. He had turned the auxiliary power on to do a systems check on his unit after it had been delivered to the star-port earlier that afternoon. His eyes were tired and the effect of the coffee he had had an hour ago was wearing off. At thirty years it seemed that his body did not react to sleep deprivation as well as it used to in his twenties. His natural athleticism was still evident however, and he prided himself on his chiselled features and rock-hard abdomen. Mitchell believed in leading by example, and his easy manner with the men, combined with the respect he commanded on the battlefield made him a natural leader. Of course being a veteran of numerous battles didn't hurt either.

Mitchell's Zippo flared, and he shook his torpid mind awake as his lungs filled with nicotine.

'SatCom system – Check'

'Nav system – Check'

'Weapons system – Check'

'Modulators – Check'

'Cooling System – Check'

……

As the diagnostics system preformed its checks, one by one the red lights turned green until finally the female voice of the on-board computer announced 'All systems go'.

Mitchell didn't want to leave his diagnostics check for next day. Even though the engineers had serviced and checked each unit before dispatching them for action, Mitchell knew he did not even have time to replace a circuit tomorrow morning, since he would be tied up with his responsibilities as platoon leader.

The check was complete. He flicked the switch to turn on his heads-up display. Immediately the entire glass bulb of the Goliath lit up with green diamonds that identified the friendly units around him. A red diamond would typically mark enemy units – he was glad there weren't any of those around. Then he flicked his motions scanners and infrared detectors on. The motion scanners sounded like a dripping tap as it transmitted ultra-low frequency sonar that would register motion up to 1000 meters. The infrared only gave the heads-up display a slightly yellow glow. Then, as one of the perimeter guards walked past the Goliath's sensory range outside the hangar, he was displayed as a red silhouette on an otherwise black visor.

'Good' Mitchell thought to himself. Everything seems fine. Once the weapons are armed tomorrow, he could do the final check. He sat back in the chair and his Zippo flared as he lit another cigarette. The system shut down routine commenced as he blew a plume of smoke in the air. His thoughts turned to the first time he found himself in a Goliath cockpit three years ago.

As a corporal that had only seen the inside of a Siege tank, he was startled by the complexity of the Goliath's cockpit. It looked more like the cockpit of a Wraith than a tank, and the RTM-balance system consumed more processing power than all the navigation and targeting systems of a Siege tank put together. He can remember cursing the day he had agreed to the transfer to the Goliath battalion. The massacre on Vaspar-7 left a big gaping hole in the 2nd battalion and the division was reshuffled and reorganised.

'Sure' he thought to himself back then, 'at least I would stay in the 121st mechanised division. I could always transfer back to become Siege commander'. Now, with three years and numerous battles below his belt as a Goliath operator, he could not imagine himself doing anything else. The mental dexterity and focus required to operate a Goliath, having to perform the function of driver, gunner and commander all at once, was a rush Mitchell could not imagine getting as a tank commander. And so his dream of being a tank commander was at first delayed and eventually replaced.

His thoughts returned to the cockpit and to the reason he found himself on the eve of battle. When it comes to mountainous terrain, no mechanical unit could support the grunts except a Goliath. And that was exactly why the 2nd and 3rd Goliath battalions were dispatched to this dirt-ball called Theran-Gamma. The terrain had rendered the two Siege battalions that were already there useless. The ground assault had driven the Zerg into the mountains, and now, surrounding the mountain pass to keep the vermin in, it was impossible to advance the attack without mechanised support.

The heads-up display blinked off, and the crimson silhouette of the perimeter guard vanished.

Mitchell made his way down the cat-ladder. He would quickly inspect the unit's filters and reactor system before grabbing of few short hours of sleep. In the distance he could hear what sounded like thunder. He knew the boys on the line weren't sleeping tonight.

'Ker-Whump'

'Ker-Whump'

The complete darkness of the night was instantaneously interrupted by the bright flashes of the Siege tanks as they fired a volley of high explosives into the mountain range. For the last three hours they had been pounding the mountainside where a suspected Zerg hive had been detected. Behind the perimeter bunkers and formations of tanks, an explosive argument echoed the violent noise of the big guns.

'This is absolute bull-shit', sergeant Sam Ventura challenged his superiors.

'While we sit here lobbing shells at the mountain they are generating a horde up there that will consume us in a single wave. Ghost recon units report three hives are already active! Why are we still standing here', Ventura demanded.

Captain Bell glared at Ventura over the table.

'Who the hell do you thing you are to come barking at us like a junk-yard dog you little shit! I will have your ass court-martialled so fast your head will spin! Now you remove your insubordinate ass before I shoot your sorry ass myself!' Bell bellowed with a red face and droplets of spittle shooting from his mouth.

'We will advance when the damned Goliaths get here and we're good and ready!' Bell shouted at Ventura as he left the command centre.

'Ker-Whump'

'Ker-Whump'


	2. Chapter 2

'Danger close, danger close' the voice calmly said in major Arhcer's earpiece. Tiny droplets of cold sweat pearled on his back beneath his stealth-suit. The words echoed through his mind. So many times he had heard them in the last few days – with increasing frequency. His ice-blue eyes were focused and sober. He could hear the Zerg patrol closing in. They hopped into sight. Five zerglings came past, their beady yellow eyes darting in every direction. He remained calm. His stealth suit was activated, and his battery levels good and he was detecting no hostility from them. There was no reason to think the brainless Zerglings would become aware of his presence.

Archer was also confident in his ability to make a quick getaway if he had to. He could discharge a full clip consisting of 150 rounds of armour piercing bullets in thirty seconds from his C-10 canister rifle. That combined with a couple of high explosive grenades would throw anyone off his trail. On top of this, the three Ghosts that were operating in this mission were using a "cluster configuration". This meant that no one was left with his shit in the wind. The three specialists would move in a cluster, keeping a close eye on his companions – always remaining in range to support the other. For their high-powered rifles fitted with a scope that meant not being further than 1500 meters apart. In the mountainous terrain it was a difficult arrangement to maintain.

The Zerglings were moving along, but Archer was concerned with what he had seen. Their patrols had panned out in wider circles over the last couple of days, and their numbers had increased from one to three to five today. Soon the Zerg would become aware of their presence, and Archer knew that was bad. As capable as the Ghost special forces were, their greatest weapon was their stealth. The most successful missions were the ones no one knew about.

"Moving out", Archer heard in his earpiece. Archer's muscular legs lifted the hundred pounds of equipment bearing down on his body. He sure was glad that part of Ghost training included strength and stamina augmentations by genetic manipulation. No ordinary soldier could keep up the pace that this current mission demanded of him.

He was packing for a six-day mission. This included 900 rounds of ammunition, six high explosive grenades, three smoke grenades, blood expanders, a first aid kit, three proximity mines, a globe-nav computer and communication set connected to a tactical combat helmet and visor, an emergency locator beacon, a high powered rifle with anti-aircraft rounds and a variety of specialised munitions and last but not least a battery pack powering his suit and computer systems.

The Goliaths headed out. The two platoons of twelve units each marched through the open gates in staggered trail formation. "Meatball" was taking point. His helmet-mounted gun sight covered his left eye.

"Live fire weapons check, nine o'clock" Meatball spoke over his mike.

Eight hundred meters to their left across an arid plain the wreck of a Siege tank stood abandoned, a tumble weed rolling by in a gush of hot wind. The top sections of the Goliaths rotated on their metallic waists. The MK-2 was newly fitted with a mini-gun in addition to its 120mm cannon. Twelve lazar sights and range finders swung around and brought the wreckage into sight. Almost as one, their bursts chewed chunks of metal from the old tank.

"Yeeehaaaw", Mike "Psycho" Sykes hollered over his microphone.

"Bring on t'em vermin". He spoke faking a western drawl.

Sykes was one of Lieutenant Mitchell's top operators. A misspent childhood in front of a variety of game consoles had perfected his hand-eye coordination to an unparalleled level. He was a scrawny 28 year old with fair hair, and the dark circles around his eyes always made him look tired. Beyond the dark circles however, his green eyes were akin to an eagles.

"Psycho, bring up the rear", Meatball said over the mike.

"Roger" Psycho said falling back. He had grown accustomed to either walking point or bringing up the read. Mitchell usually wanted his best gun to balance off the other end of the formation.

As the Goliaths walked off in the distance, one of the perimeter guards watched as they disappeared in the dust clouds and heat waves.

The trip to the frontline took the best part of an hour and was uneventful. Tired, dust covered faces stared at the two rows of mammoth machines as they marched in. Mitchell "parked" his unit close to the operations room facing out. It was standard procedure to leave your unit facing towards the perimeter when in the field. This allowed for easy retaliation if the enemy launched a surprise attack. He also left the controls on stand-by, the reactor of the Goliath softly buzzing behind his chair – standard procedure.

His cockpit wined open and Mitchell unclasped the straps of his seat belt. Dropping his helmet in his empty chair, he made his way down the cat ladder.

"Well, it's about damn time you assholes got here" Bell was shouting as he marched toward Mitchell.

Mitchell's Zippo flared and he sucked on his cigarette as if he had not heard a word.

"If you got here one blasted hour later, I would have shot the lot of ya" Bell kept thundering.

"Lieutenant Mitchell, 121st division, 3rd Goliath battalion, 2nd and 3rd platoons reporting for duty sir!" Mitchell responded in a relaxed tone.

"Well la-dee –daa" Bell started again.

"You'd better be ready to go…"

A giant cloud of fire erupted from on of the perimeter bunkers followed by a long burst of automatic fire. Then before Mitchell and Bell could figure out what was going on all hell broke loose. The frontline bunkers erupted in a chorus of gunfire spewing fire towards the mountain. Then Mitchell saw them. A sea of the zerg approaching.

"Saddle up" he hollered, but luckily most of his men had not dismounted their units yet.

With the agility of a cat Mitchell made his way back into his cockpit. Sitting with his helmet in hand, he had no time to put it on. About five zerglings had broken through and were making their way straight toward his position. They had cut off Bells retreat to the command centre and his weapon.

Mitchell grabbed his right hand control and the mini-gun lifted in response. Not having his gun-sight in place he jammed the fire button under his trigger finger. A line of dirt shot up in front of him and he walked it over to the approaching enemy. As his line of bullets met the zerglings, the familiar explosion of goo and slime exploded now only about fifteen meters away.

One, two three zerglings exploded in the canon fire, but still they kept hopping closer.

"Get in" Mitchell screamed at Bell, but Bell could not hear a thing over the gunfire. Bell pulled out his pistol and started firing, the rounds hitting but not much affecting the zerglings. Frantically Mitchell tried to rake his gunfire over the last two zerglings. Bell seemed to realise that his pistol was useless and that his only escape would be the cockpit of Mitchell's monster. As he reached for the ladder, the zergling that he had emptied a clip into tore his head clear from his body.

Slowly Mitchell's glass cockpit cover whined lower. Mitchell knew one leap from the zergling and his head would be laying in the dirt too. The zergling looked up at him.

"Shit, this is it" Mitchell thought.

The zergling started turning to position him for the leap. Mitchell stared into the eyes of the critter. It's front paws lifted as it steadied itself to jump. A trail of dust explosions came from behind and cut the zergling in two.

"Don't mention it boss" Mitchell could hear over his helmet earpiece as he strapped his helmet on. Psycho's MK-2 came marching past him, the 28-year old giving a thumbs up with his left hand as his right hand kept his mini-gun firing into the distance.

"Cowboy" Mitchell quipped smiling, relieved to be alive.

The camp around them had exploded in total chaos. Where there had been two rows of perimeter bunkers five minutes ago, the first row had been completely destroyed, save one. The fire-bats inside found themselves overwhelmed. At times it seemed as if the whole bunker went up in an explosion of fire, but when the flames died down one could see it was the flamethrowers that had been fired in unison creating a complete firewall around the single outpost. The waves of zerg would be consumed in flames, only to be replaced by another wave. Two siege tanks repositioned themselves to be able to lend fire support to the lone bunker, their stabilizers hissing into place, when suddenly the bunker exploded in a massive ball of fire. The violence of the explosion was so intense, two Goliaths were knocked from their feet.

The firebat combat suits allowed them to withstand intense temperatures, so Mitchell was not too surprised to see two green diamonds moving where the wreckage of the bunker was. Two guys had obviously survived the explosion. "

"First battalion on me" he screamed into is mike. He would do everything possible to save those guys. The explosion had knocked the zerg back some distance, but they were again closing in again.

"We have two survivors in that bunker. Focus your fire to protect them" Mitchell said at the mechanic giants walked past the second row of bunkers. The effect of twelve mini-guns combined with twelve 120mm cannons dramatically increased the effect the frontline bunkers were having on the zerg. As their rounds exploded in the distance, bundles of zerg were shot into the air and came dropping down like ripe fruit from a tree. The line of Goliaths edged forward – at times standing and firing and then walking again. The two fire-bats saw there was break in the attack. They saw the Goliaths approaching, and grabbed the opportunity. As they scrambled from their cover, Mitchell could see one man was hanging on to the other, obviously wounded.

"Come on you bastards" he said to himself, urging them on. For a moment Mitchell thought they would make it, when from the ground a giant barb shot forth and impaled the unwounded fire-bat. The barb slid back into the ground and Mitchell knew it would shoot out again shortly to kill the other man. The sunken colony operated on vibration, and the running man's feet would soon attract the deadly attention.

"Fire-bat, fire-bat this is Goliath leader do you read me" Mitchell spoke trying to contact the lone soldier.

"Corporal Chase here! I read you! Keep those bastards off me," the firebat yelled as he limped across the battle-scarred battlefield.

Mitchell could see the sunken colony in a distance.

"Marking target" Mitchell said to his platoon as he painted the colony with his lazar designator. Then he open-ended fire on the colony. Within seconds it exploded in a wave of slime. The firebat leapt into a bunker.

"Goliaths advance", Mitchell spoke. They might still live to see the day of tomorrow, Mitchell thought to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

A Ghost Story – Chapter 3 

Archer's body lay like a corpse in the dense underbrush of the strip of jungle he found himself in. The brown rock of the mountain range tore open to both sides to leave a green strip of thick jungle that was fed by a mountain-fountain that formed a river streaming down the valley.

A thick layer of mud covered his combat suit and equipment, and between the green shrubs, his body hugging the earth, he was as close to invisible as anyone could be – anyone without an activated stealth suit. His battery was exhausted 28 hours ago, and since then he found himself in a cat and mouse game with the Zerg. Lucky for him, his globe-nav map guide showed this strip of jungle and he managed to make it into the cover without being discovered. Usually missions would not outlast the stealth-suit's battery pack, but then again there was nothing usual about this mission. Specialists Millard and Deacons had been killed shortly after their batteries ran empty. Through his high power scope Archer could see his comrades fighting for their lives, their guns blazing against the hordes that closed in around them, but there was nothing he could do. The information that he carried was too valuable, and although it felt as if his heart had been torn from his body – seeing his brothers in arms die – he knew getting what he had back to his commanders was more important then two or even a hundred of their lives, including his.

The images taken through his high-powered scope was safely saved on the microcomputer fitted in his combat suit. Under normal circumstances he would transmit the images to the remote Ghost HQ that was in some subterranean bunker somewhere on this miserable little planet, but for some reason, all communications were down. That meant that he was the messenger – like the message runners of old – making his way through the enemy lines to get the information he had to the king.

There was a stir in the leaves about five meters to his left. Archer was quiet. The thick slimy tail of a Hydralisk slithered past. Archer was dead calm. It was though the death of his comrades, the burden of his mission and the constant threat of imminent death did not faze him. And indeed it did not. The psychological conditioning of Ghost specialists enabled them to endure extensive psychological pressure without suffering the same consequences of normal soldiers. The enemy had moved past. In absolute silence, Archer moved on – his was a race against time.

Ten platoons of marines and the twenty remaining Goliaths headed up the mountain as the sun was rising. Mitchell's battle group was now operating under the call sign "Hunter-Pack". The camp below, that consisted mainly of fifty Siege tanks and a hand full of marines, had moved five clicks away from their previous position to give them more range, if for some reason another attack was launched on their position. The range of the cannons on the siege tanks were their biggest advantage, and Mitchell wondered why Bell had positioned them so close to the mountain range in the first place.

As he pondered their current situation, Mitchell could not help but swear out loud. The whole outfit on TerraGamma was light – way light. Less than twenty four hours ago, they almost got their asses handed to them by the Zerg. With Bell's passing, Mitchell was the ranking officer and was looking forward to making some changes, but when headquarters learned of Bell's death, they quickly dispatched a replacement. Major Meeks, together with four platoons of marines and some supplies were dropped off before sun set. It took Mitchell the better half of three seconds to decide that Meeks was an incompetent asshole.

His first command to Mitchell was to prepare to head out at dawn. Now under normal circumstances Mitchell would agree – take the fight to the enemy. But considering that the ghost units had gone dark more than a day ago (and no intel was getting through), the Zerg had opened a can of whip-ass on them, and that there was nothing in terms of air support, Mitchell could not help but feel reluctant. The three hives that had been reported, immediately warranted a complete battle group, but it seemed that TerraGamma was on someone's shit list. He could not help feel like Jack climbing the beanstalk to go do battle with the giant.

"Hunter-Pack, this is Laager."

"Laager this is Hunter-Pack - go ahead" Mitchell responded to Meeks's voice.

"Hunter-Pack, I'm uploading new waypoints for your patrol - please update."

Mitchell scanned the coordinates of the new waypoints. He swore again. Meeks had rerouted them over all three hive positions. Where the original brief had been to locate the hives and wait for reinforcements, the new route would force Hunter-Pack into a full-blown confrontation with the Zerg.

"Laager please confirm the coordinates," Mitchell said, knowing there was no error in the transmission, hoping Meeks would comprehend his reluctance. Mitchell did not want to openly question his superior over an open channel. The men were skittish already, and the commanding officers fighting over the airwaves would do their moral no good.

"Coordinates confirmed" Meeks responded.

"Good hunting. Laager out".

The two men were engaged in intense negotiations. The mechanised units and infantry were issued with different ration packs, and trading was usually an opportunity embraced by all.

"Ok, give me two 'Powerbars' for a can of de-boned chicken" Psycho offered.

"Is dumb-shit written somewhere on my forehead, the bulky corporal retorted."

"We're walking our asses off here…I need those bars if I'm gonna make it to the other side. What do you need 'em for anyways; sittin' on your ass in your bubble?" Psycho's could not help but look at the M.A.R.I.N.E. acronym inscribed on the soldier's suit. It read "Muscles Are Required Intelligence Not Essential.

The grunt obviously had no respect for Psycho's addition to sugar.

"Ok, ok, ok", Psycho said excitedly with his hand shaking.

"One bar for one can…that's my final offer."

The grunt looked a Psycho suspiciously.

"Tell you what", the grunt countered. "I'll give you the two bars for free if we can hang these bandoleers to the back of your unit." Holding a bundle of ammo-belts in the air, the grunt was trading his food for cargo space on Psycho's Goliath.

"Fine, but if the mud starts flying, I don't want you climbing all over my unit to grab your stuff – that'll get your ass killed."

Sykes grabbed the bars, and walked away. The grunt smiled – the remainder of his march had just gotten twenty kilos lighter.

A stone throw away Mitchell was having his lunch with Ventura. He liked the angry sergeant. He knew he was one of those soldiers that got the job done. Mitchell could also tell that Ventura had the respect of his men.

"So, you were on the ground at Nadeema", Mitchell asked, never having met a survivor from the great battle of Nadeema.

"Yup, and let me tell you it wasn't pretty. We were one of the last units in, so I only got there on the last of the five days." Ventura's eyes looked in the distance and his face turned to stone as the memories flooded back. Mitchell could tell Ventura had seen the worst of it – his thousand mile stare betrayed him.

"Shiiiiit" Ventura mumbled as if in a trance. "I'd never seen so many dead." He paused. "Have you ever seen more than a hundred battle cruisers littering the battle field?" Ventura asked without expecting an answer.

"Our Wraiths would get plucked from the sky as they entered the theatre. We hunkered down behind piles of corpses for cover…I thought it was all over…the sky turned dark…I looked up to face my killer when I saw the waves and waves of Protoss Interceptors and Corsairs fly by. I can still remember the drilling sound that whined in the air as the Corsairs fired their guns. Say of the Protoss what you like, but they sure saved our asses that day."

"Sergeant!" a voice pulled Ventura from his trance.

"The eastern flank reports movement. Zerg at approximately 3 clicks" the soldier yelled from the outcrops that towered over the temporary camp.

"Saddle up" Mitchell yelled, and men started making their way to their equipment.

Mitchell was happy with the way the formations deployed. The infantry and Goliaths were interspersed, and over the rocky plain he could see the Zerg in the distance.

"Enemy units, 2000 meters" he said over his mike.

The line advanced and Mitchell kept his eyes on his scanners. He could see the red dots in his motion and infrared scanners.

"Enemy units, 1500 meters" he said again.

"Weapons are free" and with that a series of booms ripped through their ranks as the Goliaths fired, followed by the whine of their mini-guns.

One-thousand-five hundred meters away the bullets were ripping through their targets. True to their nature, the Zerg immediately attacked. Hundreds of zerglings came hopping over the plane. Mitchell's range finder indicated 500 meters. The grunts now also opened up. A wall of hot metal was pouring out over the approaching vermin, and it had the desired effect. Explosions of slime popped as the bullets ripped the Zerg's lines apart.

From the corner of his eye Mitchell could see Psycho working his guns. Nothing more than a video game to him, Mitchell thought to himself. Never the less, he always found Psycho's kill rate amazing. He was the soldier with the highest number of confirmed kills in the entire division.

"BOHICA, you assholes" Psycho screamed over his mike as his Goliath spewed another stream of fire into the approaching lines.

Mitchell just smiled at that – 'Bend Over Here It Comes Again'.

Even the grunts seemed to be enjoying the fight that had turned into a massacre. Mitchell estimated around 300 enemy units killed with only about 50 left. It was moments like these that made it all worth while.

Ten minutes later all that was left was smoking barrels and puddles of slime.

"We head out immediately. The first hive is less than ten miles away, and if any of the vermin got away, they will be on to us" Mitchell said to the platoon leaders.

"We hit them hard and we hit them fast. Grab your battle-rattle, and let's go."

As the men refitted and regrouped, Mitchell sat in his open cockpit to call in his sitrep (situation report).

"Laager, Laager, Laager, this is Hunter-Pack. Come in. Over." A static hiss was his only reply.

"Laager, Laager, Laager, this is Hunter-Pack. Come in. Over." Again, nothing but static.

Mitchell's Zippo flared as his frustration levels rose.

"Laager, Laager, Laager, this is Hunter-Pack. Come in. Over." He tried again, blowing a plume of smoke.

"Merlin" Mitchell called his electronics expert.

"Comms are down. We move out in five. I want it fixed before then."

"Roger" Merlin responded.

Mitchell slid down his cat ladder. He wanted to get a quick word with Ventura before they left.

"How's your men doin'" he asked offering Ventura a cigarette.

"All good" Ventura said as he leaned in close to the Zippo.

"Comms are down. I can't get Laager. But we must press the attack now" Mitchell said, wanting to keep Ventura informed.

"I agree" he responded with the cigarette in his mouth.

"We stomp them out – hard and fast."

"Lieutenant" Merlin called from behind. Mitchell turned and left, flashing Ventura a 'thumbs-up'.

"Sir, the comms are fine. There's just not response from the other side."

Mitchell was perplexed. However unlikely it sounded, he was sure Meeks was responsible. First the asshole sends them on a suicide mission, and then he somehow allows the comms to go down.

Mitchell flicked his stub to the ground, and climbed to his cockpit. No time to waste. They move out – comms or not.


	4. Chapter 4

A Ghost Story – Chapter 4 

The small group of platoon leaders were completely enveloped in the dark night. The glow emanated by the electronic map was dim enough not to give their position away. In hushed tones Mitchell explained the strategy.

"True to their nature the Zerg have positioned their hive between these rock outcrops providing them with natural protection. Fortunately it also creates a funnel-like structure with this end being wide open, and that end only about fifteen meters wide" he said indicating on the map.

"Sergeant Ventura will set up an ambush on this narrow side, and pull them out with a mock attack. They should come pouring out in a nice long line. With the bulk of their ground units engaged on this side, I will lead the remainder of our force in from this side and hack away at the base. This was the first hive to be mapped, and should therefore be the largest. If we can crack this nut, we should have a good chance to complete this campaign intact. Marines, you're with Ventura. I will supplement your ambush with ten of my units. The rest of the Goliaths will come with me to go knocking at the back door. Sergeant, when you feel that you have them busy, you signal us, and we'll step in. Any questions?"

Mitchell's ten Goliaths disappeared into the dark night, navigating with their night vision and range sensors. It would take them three hours to navigate around the hive and approach from the rear.

Mitchell was left to his thoughts as his Goliath continued into the night. As his eyes scanned his instruments, he reconsidered their strategy. The "Clunkers", as the Goliaths were commonly called, would head in a box formation. Mitchell's mind regurgitated his lectures on combat formations; "…the box formation provides firepower to the front and flanks; it can quickly be changed to one of the other standard formations; it is easy to control and facilitates speed of movement; it requires sufficient space for dispersion laterally and in depth and it is recommended for use in pursuit…" The arrangement of the hive also complimented this formation. It was the right decision.

His mind turned to Ventura and his men. After quick consideration he relaxed a little. There was probably nothing he could add to Ventura's knowledge and experience as an infantry commander. As he said to his platoon commanders earlier, the attack from two sides would increase the zerg's confusion. "All warfare is based on deception", another fact he could recall from his days as a student.

Well, Mitchell thought to himself. Let's see how they respond to this double-edged sword.

It was the early morning hours when the clunkers reached their holding position. The temperature outside had fallen to minus five degrees Celsius. Fortunately both the Goliaths and the marine's combat suits had temperature control.

* * *

Forty kilometres away archer was not as lucky. A skirmish with a Hydralisk the previous day had completely destroyed his battery pack and the electronics of his stealth suit. It had been a knife fight from hell. With other zerg units close in the vicinity he had had no choice.

Luckily he could retrieve the memory chip he had stored the recognisance images on. With his stealth-suit rendered useless, and considering the distance he had to travel, Archer decided to dump any access baggage and travel light. This meant dumping most of his electronic gear. What he hung on to was his rifle and munitions, his first aid kit and the remaining food and water.

The one thing that did count in his favour was his suspicion that he had lost the zerg trailing him – even if only temporarily. Now he needed to put as much distance between him and the enemy as quickly as possible. With no navigation equipment, Archer had to navigate by the stars, and the orientation week on TerraGamma now came in handy.

His feet plodded up dust puffs as on the dusty terrain that stretched out in front of him into the night as his weary, bruised body trotted on. It was only his will to survive that kept him going.

* * *

Mitchell signalled Ventura that they were in position and waiting.

It wasn't long before Mitchell's radio clicked twice. Ventura was in place. They would launch their attack soon. Mitchell checked his watch. Three o'clock. He was craving a cigarette. But he would have to wait. So he sat waiting, in the dark – no sound, nothing.

Small beads of sweat pearled on Ventura's forehead below his helmet. The five men with him were the best. He knew he could count on them. Silently they slipped toward the hive. In the dark night, Ventura could only see two dark mounts in front of him on either side – the rock outcroppings that led to the hive. Treading softly, the five men cut through the dark, their weapons aimed to their front. Ventura knew they did not have to fully engage the enemy – only draw them out. But he also knew if they weren't careful, they could get killed. All he wanted to do, was to locate the closest zergling or hydralisk, spray it with lead, and get the hell back to the lines. With his right fist in the air, he kneeled - the rest of his men followed his example.

For a moment they waited in silence. There was nothing. They were almost a hundred meters from their lines and would have to go a hundred more before they could expect contact. It was quiet. Ventura waved his men forward. The five men went ahead – running hunched over. Again Ventura stopped. He did not see anything, but he had developed somewhat of a sixth sense in his time in the marines. His skin was crawling. He knew the zerg were close.

He signalled his men to advance when the earth burst open in front of them. Ventura and the man next to him were knocked off their feet. As he fell he could see the other men jamming the triggers of the C-14 Gauss rifles, firing into the ground.

Getting up, Ventura turned finding two dead men – blood squirting from holes in their combat suits. The earth was still moving and he realised it must be a lurker.

"Back to the lines", Ventura screamed. The fire had immediately attracted the attention of other hydralisks and zerglings that had remained still under the cover of darkness.

With a number of vermin hot on their trail the three men sprinted back to the safety of their comrades. Venture slammed the red button on his combat suit, and when the two men behind him saw it they followed suit. Under normal circumstances their combat suits did not allow for quick movement. But with unnatural levels of adrenaline coursing through the veins of the three marines, directly injected into their blood stream by the stim-pack controller, their speed was unmatched. When they were about thirty meters from the line, their comrades opened fire. It was like a wall of fire that errupted around them. Explosions ripped through the air as the Goliaths opened up with their cannons. The pursuing zerg were consumed in an explosion that knocked the three marines from their feet, sending them crashing into the ground headfirst.

Over his mike, Mitchell could hear the battle unfolding.

"Hunter three, five contacts, two o'clock."

"Hunter six, seven contacts at twelve."

"Hunter two, numerous contacts, eleven o' clock."

Soon the men stopped calling targets, and Mitchell knew it was due to the target rich environment.

Just as Mitchell had predicted, the zerg poured into the kill-zone in a nice narrow stream. With the machine gun fire focused on the bottleneck, the marines and clunkers had maximum effect.

Ventura had made it back to the safety of the terran lines. Hunkering down behind a waist-high rock outcropping, he started pouring fire into the kill-zone. The zerg were fully engaged. It was time to signal Mitchell.

"Hunter-Pack two, engage; hunter-pack two, engage."

The words sent a surge of excitement through Mitchell's body. He did not have to repeat the command to his men. As one the formation started forward. As the Goliaths closed in, one by one the structures of the hive registered on their displays. From the motion scanners and infrared detectors, Mitchell could see most of the zerg had vacated the hive in their attack to the other side. For a moment he grinned. Like fish in a barrel, he thought to himself.

"This is Meatball – guns are free."

In an instant the front Goliaths opened up. Machinegun and cannon fire echoed the viscous firefight that was raging on the other side of the hive. Mitchell's eyes followed the steady stream of tracers his guns were firing into the closest creep-colony. Small splutters of slime marked the entrance wounds of the biological formations. Keeping his eyes on the controls, Mitchell directed his machine guns with one hand, and his cannon with the other. It was one of the tougher skills to master if you were training to become an operator.

On the other side of the zerg camp, Ventura was getting concerned. The vermin kept coming without end. The dead carcasses were heaping up, and still a thick stream of various shapes and sizes came through the rock outcrops. Two zerglings had even managed to break through the offensive barrier on the west wing, and for a few seconds had wreaked havoc, killing two men.

Aiming into the bottleneck, and squeezing the trigger, Ventura could see his rounds cut through the approaching mass. Then something strange happened. It looked as if the zerg were retreating.

Mitchell checked his display. The box formation had worked perfectly. His element had closed in around the hive, and on all fronts the hive was taking a beating.

On his display, Mitchell saw movement. From the other side of the hive the zerg streamed back into the camp. They were returning to defend their nest against Mitchell's attack. Mitchell had hoped that the fight Ventura had cooking on the other side would be sufficient to keep the vermin out. Apparently he was wrong.

"Guns front everybody. We've got guests."

On the other side of the battle, Ventura realised he had to press their attack, and advance on the retreating zerg. The gigantic Goliaths however, would not make it through the narrow rock pass, and would have to remain behind. He knew they would not be able to draw the zerg out again. So his force was effectively cut in half.

"Marines, on me" he screamed into his mike as he launched himself into the kill-zone. The men scurried out from behind the rocks and streamed towards the passage leading to the hive.

Mitchell realized things were getting hot. Two of his units had already taken damage. They would have to do an offensive retreat – a manoeuvre the clunkers were famous for.

The goliath's onboard computer mapped and memorised every step it took for a full month. This, combined with its other intelligent systems, meant it could navigate hundreds of miles without any human input. The "offensive retreat" meant that the goliaths would follow the same route out of the combat zone they had used in. However, with the computers doing all the walking, the operators could swivel the torso of the Goliath around, and in effect be a mobile gun turret.

"Hunter-Pack two, hold formation – offensive retreat", Mitchell commanded. The clunkers turned around, their upper halves swinging around as they did. As the formation started walking back the way they came, the operators sat in their cockpits, guns blazing.

Ventura was racing through the rock passage. He wanted to run at full speed, but knew carelessness would get him killed. Suddenly a barb shot from the ground and slit through his calf muscle. Screaming out in pain, he fought the urge to fall to his knees. He knew it was a sunken colony, and if he lingered he would surely die. They had to keep moving and take it out. The zerg were smarter that they were sometimes given credit for. The narrow rock pass that fed the ambush earlier, now trapped the marines in the same predicament with at least one sunken colony attacking them. All they could do now was move fast and kill.

The offensive retreat was proving successful. As the zerg were following the clunkers could pick at their lines. They were however also taking hits. To his left Mitchell saw a cloud of acid envelop the top half of a Goliath as four hydralisks squirted their deadly juice at once. The Goliath could take a chemical attack and Mitchell was holding his breath – the resilient clunkers have been known to survive worse. One of the hydralisks was cut in half by a yellow stream of tracers, but the other three let loose again. This time the Goliath stumbled and fell. Its armour looked like molten cheese as it sizzled under the acid. Inside the bubble Mitchell could see the operator scramble to punch the emergency evacuation switch which would blow the cockpit bubble clear off. A hydralisk slithered closer, seeing the movement inside the bubble. It hissed as it recognised the human inside and prepared to kill. The bubble ripped of the fallen Goliath, smashing into the enraged hydralisk. The operator rolled over the side of the cockpit and started to run. Mitchell could not make out who it was, but he did not have much hope for his fallen comrade.

If the offensive retreat was halted now, their casualties would triple. Then to his horror Mitchell recognised the doomed soldier as Psycho. Shit, he thought. He was about to see his best man get killed – the two remaining hydralisks pursuing.

Men were dropping on either side of Ventura. This was becoming bad, he thought. Then he could see the sunken colonies. There were two.

"All guns - SC's eleven o'clock" he hollered, and with that the marines opened fire on the colony as they ran.

It seemed as if he was running in slow motion. With his lungs burning, and the weight of his equipment bearing down on him, Ventura ran towards the colony as if it was his salvation. In his helmet his breath was loud against the bursts of machine gun fire that came from the outside. Again and again men fell, and Ventura knew the seconds were ticking towards his own death. It was a race for his life. He could feel the cold grip of death around his neck. Was he ready to die, he wondered.

"You first asshole", he screamed as he ran in underneath the towering protrusions of the sunken colony.

It felt as if he stood there for an eternity, his rifle pulsating in his arms as it discharged cartridge after cartridge.

Mitchell looked at the bugs as they closed in on Sykes. It was over – he knew.

With two explosions in quick succession, the two deadly bugs were blown to vapour. Sykes flat out ran past the line of clunkers and into the night.

Mitchell could not keep his jaw from dropping. What he had seen was unbelievable.

Smart man, he thought relieved as he watched Sykes run into the night. Hanging around in this shit-storm will get you killed double quick.

It seemed that Sykes's daring escape marked a turn in the tide. The zerg lines suddenly started to diminish. It happened quickly, and Mitchell realised they could close the deal.

"Formation halt" he commanded. As one Hunter-Pack two stopped. Their firing was controlled – and the zerg kept going down.

"Hunter-Pack two; advance to enemy camp."

The clunkers headed out, and resistance was minimal – the back of the beast was finally broken. As suddenly as it had started it was over.

Mitchell's lighter flared as he fired up his first cigarette in hours. Standing next to his clunker he sucked the smoke deep into his lungs and started to relax.

Fires flickered everywhere. The nest was completely destroyed. Here and there sporadic gunfire helped the remaining wounded zerg into the beyond.

Mitchell looked around. He had not seen Ventura since their departure hours earlier.

"Soldier, where's sergeant Ventura" he asked a passing marine.

"Dunno, but I heard he got hit" the soldier said. "I don't know if he's still alive."

Mitchell could feel his heart sink. Ventura was a pillar in this effort.

* * *

Archer moved quickly. His pace was relentless, and even though he was drunk with fatigue, his mind was sharp and focused. He would not quit. He would not give up. The information he carried could save human kind. He could not allow himself to fail…and he would not.

(Please remember to review)


	5. Chapter 5

A Ghost Story – Chapter 5 

Archer had been running for 52 hours. Blood was seeping from his combat boots – each step leaving a crimson outline on the desert sand. He knew five to ten kilometres behind him a pack of zerg was following his blood-trail. He would soon have to make a stand, but he was not convinced that he had the firepower to deflect this attack on his life.

In a distance he could see a hill. A lone mound on the flat desert plain. It was approximately twenty kilometres away, and Archer knew if he made it to the hill, he could make a stand.

A hour and a half later, Archer was starting up the side of the hill. Twenty minutes after that he positioned himself behind the crest, and flipped the covers of his scope up. His eyes scanned the horizon through the powerful lens of the scope.

There. Approximately 120 zerglings, five hydralisks and two overlords hovering above - closing in. Archer knew this could go either way. A ghost specialist never questioned his own ability. But he also never underestimated the enemy. And that left Archer with a realistic yet grim picture.

If he opened fire at 1500 meters, firing one shot every five seconds with the zerg travelling ten kilometres per hour, it would take the zerg nine minutes to reach him, and that allowed him 108 shots. Leaving 12 zerglings, five hydralisks and two overlords.

Making a stand, and facing the enemy one bullet at a time won't cut it. He would have to supplement his plan.

Scanning the surroundings, Archer's eye caught a dark spot on the side of the mountain below him. It was a cave. Twelve zerglings, five hydralisks and two overlords…adding the cave into the equations it just might work.

Five minutes later the first zergling was within range. The shot reverberated through his frame, and the head of the zergling exploded. Five seconds later the second zergling died.

His sweaty finger curled around the trigger again and again. The thin black lines of the crosshairs zoned in on the zergling sculls time after time.

Eight minutes later, a hundred zergling corpses lined the path the pack was following toward the hill. After dropping the hundred-and-first zergling Archer scrambled for the cave, the zerg only being forty meters away. Within second Archer had disappeared into the darkness of the cave.

The zerg reached his location and within seconds realized his blood trail lead into the cave. With the two overlords hovering overhead, the remaining eighteen zerglings and five hydralisks disappeared into the cave.

The complete darkness was something Archer loved. It meant he was invisible. And without his stealth suit it was something he longed for. He would hit fast, and hit hard.

The overlords were circling the cave. Their obsessive minds were focused on their pack of killers down in the cave. They would not leave, nor relent until the human was dead. At the same time they were assured that the pack would annihilate the human. Never the less, the two overlords kept circling the cave. It would be over soon.

Inside the cave, Archer was suspending his muscular frame from the rock ceiling, concealed in a dark shadow. The zerg passed underneath. The fake scent trail he had left worked. They disappeared into the darkness.

Outside the overlords were restless. They wanted the human dead. They scanned the mountainside and cave. When would their minions return? Then without warning, a lone human sprinted from the cave.

Archer crouched to one knee, lifting his weapon and aimed at the overlords. His first round ripped through the large sack suspending the overlord in the air. A putrid mix of sulphur and hydrogen escaped from the hole. The second round cut through one of the tentacles suspending the overlord to the floating bag.

The sudden attack and relentless fire panicked the overlords. To them, death was imminent. Within seconds the two overlords drifted away in the. To them, a regenerated pack would soon reinforce the attack – their minions in the cave were expendable.

As they drifted away in the wind, Archer returned to the cave. Two down, 23 to go. Even with the overwhelming odds, Archer's focus never flinched. Not for a second.

* * *

"It's just a flesh wound," Ventura said, looking at Mitchell. The hole in his calf that was oozing blood did not seem to bother him. Another marine was applying disinfectant and bandaging his leg.

"How's the numbers" he said referring to the remaining troops.

"Dunno. Still have to check. But I think we did ok."

Mitchell lit a cigarette. He walked away, almost smiling with relief. He realised Ventura was not only a colleague, but had also become a friend.

Within minutes he had rallied the troop.

"Ok, listen up" he hollered. "You all did good. I'm proud. Now let's have a head count." Mitchell scanned the lines.

"Platoons! Report" he yelled.

"Platoon one – three dead, two wounded."

"Platoon two – six dead, no wounded."

After five minutes, Mitchell had determined the stats. Thirty of the 120 marines were dead, ten marines were wounded and fifteen Goliaths were still operational. It was bad, but not terrible.

"Ok, take a load off – we saddle up at first light."

Mitchell knew the marines were crashing – hitting a low after their bodies were exposed to the extreme levels of adrenaline they were exposed to. For the next couple of hours they would be completely fagged out. But after that they would have to press the attack.

Mitchell returned to his clunker. Reaching for his radio, he yearned for a voice on the other side, even if it was that asshole Meeks.

"Laager this is Hunter-Pack; do you read me?" [Static

"Laager this is Hunter-Pack; do you read me?" [Static

Mitchell's shoulders sagged. Here he was – knee deep up shit creek with no paddle, and the tide was coming in.

"MERLIN!!!" Mitchell screamed, his frustration echoing through the camp.

"Radios?" was the only thing Mitchell asked as Merlin ran up to him huffing.

"Yes sir – let me take a look" Merlin replied ascending the cat-ladder. Sinking in behind the control console of the clunker, Merlin expertly started punching the keypads, the glow of the displays lighting up his face.

Combing through the diagnostics and electronic analysis, it took him less then a minute to come to the same conclusion he had before the attack.

"Sir, all systems are go. I bounced your signal off my unit – no problem."

"So what is the source of our inability to communicate" Mitchell asked, knowing the possible answers before Merlin could respond.

"Well sir, either we're being jammed" Merlin started.

"Jammed…by the bugs" Mitchell interrupted irritated.

"Or…" Merlin continued. "Or, the base is down."

There was a moment of silence.

"Ok, get down from there" Mitchell said.

"Get some sleep" he commanded Merlin as he left.

Mitchell considered his options. He needed to talk to Ventura again.

* * *

Archer could sense the zerg. In the pitch-blackness, the playing field was level. Well, sort of. But with no light, the zerg navigated mostly by smell…Archer knew exactly where he was going. He did not have to rely on the stale air to guide him.

Like a bat slicing through the night, Archer descended on his prey. In less than a second he was gone again, leaving only a dead carcass. It took a moment for the remainder of the pack to realize what had happened, but when they did they were enraged. Their howls tore through the cave. Archer smiled.

On his way to Ventura, Mitchell passed Sykes entertaining a number of operators.

"I tell you man, when those four snakes appeared in front of me, the pucker factor hit ten. I let loose with my spud-launcher (105mm cannon), but it was too late".

"Sykes, I wanna have a word when I get back" Mitchell said in passing – a trail of smoke curling behind him. "The rest of you get some rest."

Ventura was sitting with his back against a boulder – his armour suit still on to shield him against the cold.

Mitchell spoke in a hushed tone, not wanting to wake the sleeping marines.

"I want to un-ass this camp as soon as possible. Only problem is we still don't have any comms."

"Yeah", Ventura interrupted him. "I tried phoning home earlier as well…zilch."

"So anyway", Mitchell continued, "You know they could be on to us. This shit-storm would have been visible from miles away. If one overlord saw it, we might soon find the bugs opening an umbrella in our assholes."

"Yup", Ventura agreed. "We gotta keep movin'. If the base got FUBARed, there's nothing we can do. If the bugs took out fifty siege tanks, then we'll be a fart in the wind anyway. I say we keep movin', press the attack, and pray for reinforcements."

Mitchell hated to admit it, but Ventura was right. There was nothing they could do if the base was in fact destroyed. Their best option was to stay mobile and hope HQ would reinforce them soon.

Walking back to his clunker, Mitchell found Sykes. He was having a word with the marine that had made the trade with him earlier that day.

"Listen Zander, I feel your pain" Sykes started, his approach one hundred percent diplomacy and bullshit. Looking up at the towering marine in his bulky combat armour he continued the charade. "But I escaped with my life man – my life!" Adding in a bit of emotion, Sykes was trying to get off the hook - Zander obviously wanting payback for his lost supplies. Mitchell even thought he saw a tear forming in Sykes's eye.

"Listen here you little feather merchant" the gruff voice of the marine replied without any pity, "you'd better find me some spare ammo, 'cause I swear on my mamma's life, if the vermin are staring down the barrel of my gun and I pull the trigger and all I hear is click because you got y'r ass shot to shit, I'm gonna rip y'r head off 'n crush y'r scull." With that Zander turned and left without noticing Mitchell.

"Making friends I see" Mitchell said with a smile.

"Yes, but I must say, these marines lack a certain je ne sais quoi" Sykes replied rubbing his chin.

"I'm glad you're alive. You must be the luckiest asshole in the platoon," Mitchell continued.

"Listen", Mitchell continued before Sykes could respond. "I'm going to assign you with Animal's clunker. I can't afford to have one of my best drivers out of the game at this stage."

"That's fine by me L.T., but Animal's gonna shit a brick" Sykes commented matter-of-factly.

"Let me worry about Animal; you just be ready to go" Mitchell's said – his lips perched with a fresh cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

"We've got two hives left in this operation," Mitchell continued after lighting his smoke and taking a long drag. "Both should be smaller than this one, but I'm not taking any chances. Now get some rest – I'll talk to Animal once he gets off the watch."

"You gotta knock that off L.T." Sykes said looking at the cigarette. "Smokin's a hazard to ye'r health."

"Yeah" Mitchell replied, flicking the butt to the ground "But so's this job – and you won't see me quitin' that anytime soon."

Walking away, Mitchell was eager to finish his check on the perimeter watch so that he could get some sleep. He had had less than four hours sleep in three days, and he knew this operation would get worse before getting any better…

Two hours later the chime of his goliath's central computer waked Mitchell. It felt as if he had been asleep for two minutes. He was groggy and took a few seconds to focus on the blinking light. Having silenced the alarm he punched the big red exit knob on his control panel, and his bubble whined as it lifted open. The freezing night air flooded his cockpit.

As he descended the cat-ladder, he spit out the gunk that had collected in his mouth while he was asleep. He would grab a quick coffee and a piss, he thought to himself, and then rattle the cage.

(10 minutes later)

"All right ladies! Grab your beans, bullets and bandages and let's go", Ventura hollered ten minutes later. Spread lights from the Goliaths bathed the area in artificial light as the marines scurried in preparation to move out. Within minutes Hunter Pack was in formation and moving out. Next stop: waypoint Beta.

* * *

Archer was also on the verge of moving out again. Having eliminated his pursuers, it had taken him two hours to patch himself up again. A couple of stitches to his left bicep and ribcage, an antibiotics shot and an infusion with his blood expanders had restored much of his mental and physical dexterity. In spite of this, he knew he needed to nourish his body if he was to complete the mission. With his food and water supplies completely exhausted, he would have to rely on an old survival trick from his days in training.

Tonight's special would be barbequed snake, he thought to himself. With his commando knife in one hand, Archer stepped over to one of the hydralisk corpses.

"The doctor is about to operate," he murmured to himself as he slit the front of the hydralisk open, having located the soft joint in the carapace. A slimy mix of intestines spilled from the carcass. Carefully carving his way to the back of the dead critter's torso cavity, Archer was looking for a specific sack of flesh and fluids that was edible and nourishing – unlike many of the creatures organs.

"Bingo", he whispered as he located a large yellow sack. Carefully slicing the sack free with his impromptu scalpel, Archer lifted the sack from the carcass.

Beholding his harvest for a second, he placed his parched lips around one of the severed pipes and started sucking. A warm bitter substance seeped into his mouth and Archer drank.

Having sucked the last bit of fluid from the sack, he impaled the fleshy organ on his knife. He fried it over a fire he had kindled with some desert weeds. The flavour of scorched flesh soon filled the cave. Minutes after finishing his meal, his feet were pounding the desert floor again.

Having picked up a broken signal on his emergency radio, Archer knew there was a terran detachment in the vicinity. It was too week and broken up to be able to communicate, but he could pinpoint their location, and he knew where they were heading. Where Archer's previous heading would take him back to base, he would now have to intercept the group. They were on their way to the second hive and if they got there, they would have a big surprise waiting for them.

* * *

Rocky outcrops were starting to litter the terrain as they progressed. In a distance an extended mountain range stretched across the horizon. To Mitchell it seemed ominous – as if it was harbouring a dark secret. He checked his instruments.

"Look alive boys, ten clicks then we're in Indian country" he called over his radio. He was actually surprised that they had not ran into small zerg units patrolling their territory. He would have expected to have greased at least a couple of zerglings this close to their hive.

Fifty minutes later, the mountain range was towering over them. Mitchell knew the next hive was on the other side. A break in the mountain would lead them into an open plain where the hive was located.

"Formation halt", Mitchell called over his radio. Swinging his helmet visor in front of his left eye, and zooming in on he mountainside, Mitchell scanned the terrain. It would be dark in an hour, and he did not want to go waltzing into the hive without having had a look at it first. If they could find a route up, they could scan the hive from the top. They would also have to keep an eye out for overlords.

There, a dry watercourse curled up the mountainside. It provided a perfect albeit somewhat uneven ascend up the mountain.

Thirty minutes later, marines had scouted the top and Mitchell's clunker stepped onto the mountain peak. The top was a flat plain about the size of a soccer field, with a waist high rock outcrops around the edge. It provided a perfect vantage point for the valley below, and would be an excellent position to defend.

Mitchell stopped his unit, punched the exit knob, and waited for the glass dome to open. Jumping out, he ran over to Ventura who was looking over the edge, scanning the hive.

When Mitchell looked over the edge, a cold grip of fear seized his heart. The plain below was consumed. More than four square kilometres covered with creep and various zerg structures. The base was roughly ten times bigger than the base they had just eliminated. Down below, numbers of overlords were hovering low above their base. What Mitchell found strange, was that he could not see any ground units moving around. It almost seemed that the base was deserted. It was only by their colour that Mitchell could tell all the structures were alive.

"F&#k me" one of the marines muttered.

"They will if they get up here" was his only response.

"I thought this one was supposed to be smaller that the previous one" Ventura asked looking at Mitchell.

"Yeah" Mitchell said with a concerned frown. "Early reports from the ghosts sized this one as a class B1. What we had back there was maybe a B3. What I see in front of me is nothing short of a D4."

(Sizing of the zerg hives ranged from A1 to F. A1 was a single hatchery, or "snot locker" as the marines called it, due to its ability to produce creep. Classification F meant that the planet was pretty much consumed.)

He did not know where this enormous base's ground units were, but he knew if they got back, they would wipe hunter-pack off the face of this planet. They would have to pull back, Mitchell thought. And they would have to do it quietly.

"Movement on the hillside sir", Mitchell could hear in his ear mike.

"Battle stations," Mitchell hollered running back to his unit.

"Location and number" he inquired as he ran.

"South-southwest" the voice replied. "Number unknown, but small."

Mitchell knew the numbers did not matter. If they were discovered it would be over. With a base like this, the vermin would not be far, and hunter-pack could not outrun the zerg.

Mitchell was barely back in his seat when the voice spoke again, "Target fifteen meters."

Shit, Mitchell thought. How did the vermin sneak up on them so quickly?

"Target, ten meters."

All units had their guns pointed at the ridge. The moment the first zerg poked its head over the ridge, a chuck the size of a truck would probably be knocked out the side of the mountain by the concentrated gunfire.

"Target five meters."

Fingers curled around their triggers. Sykes's crosshairs were balancing right above the ridge.

"Target, two meters."

No one blinked. It was deathly silent. Battle was upon them.

Then a human head popped up behind the ridge.

"Hold fire, hold fire" Mitchell said. It took him a few seconds, but then Mitchell realised it was a ghost specialist coming over the ridge. He was not wearing his standard gear, but with the amount of dried crusted blood and grime covering his fatigues, Mitchell knew this was one of the recon units that had disappeared. Hopefully now he could get some answers to this mystery that had completely consumed hunter-pack.

A perplexed group of marines stared at the lone soldier as he casually made his way over to them.

"You ok buddy? You don't look so good" was the first thing one of the marines said.

"Yeah, you should see the other guy" Archer replied dryly.

"Lieutenant Mitchell, 121st mechanised" Mitchell said walking over.

It was only his pride that kept Archer from collapsing in front of the marines. Mitchell offered him a water bottle; his blood crusted parched lips evidence of his intense thirst.

Archer finished the contents of the canister, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry I'm too late", was the first thing he said.

Mitchell was perplexed. "We haven't had any contact yet. We can still pull back."

Archer looked directly at Mitchell. His eyes stared cold and hard. "Lieutenant, you are surrounded. Daylight is the only thing keeping you alive.

Mitchell turned his head to look at the setting sun.

"Prepare for your worst nightmare" Archer said.

A cold realisation dawned on Mitchell. He was clearly not dealing with normal zerg here – it was something quite more sinister.

(Please remember to review)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mitchell's green eyes stared at the sun that was disappearing behind the horizon. Soon it would be dark.

The rug had been completely swiped from underneath him. Here he was on a mountain range on the planet Terra-Gamma in command of more than a hundred men and apparently surrounded by an unknown enemy just waiting for the cover of darkness to swoop in and annihilate them.

Major Archer, a ghost specialist had appeared as if out of no-where, and according to him, death was almost certainly inevitable.

For a moment it was quiet, a fearful silence suspending all. Mitchell was acutely aware of more than a hundred pairs of eyes staring at him – expecting an order. A lesser commander would have wavered, maybe even panicked.

"Get ready for war!" Mitchell screamed at the top of his lungs.

His reaction was unexpected.

"Tonight we conquer!" he continued, his eyes wild. The shear ferocity of his assertion echoed over the valley, and it took only a second for the effect of his words to hit the hearts of his men.

As one they responded with a savage roar.

The men dispersed not needing any further orders. This was war, but not for any specific cause or mission. This was a fight for life. A primeval instinct had taken over.

"Speak quickly major Archer" Mitchell said calmly as he turned back to face the special forces soldier.

"What is going on here?"

"Ten days ago we made contact with a group of zerg." Archer started knowing time was of the essence.

"We followed them to track down their hive. Once we located the hive we continued surveillance, mapping the growth and reporting back to HQ. Two days into the mission we detected large airborne units approaching the hive. We went dark, not knowing who or what was approaching. Within an hour…"

"We have incoming" a soldier interrupted over the headset, his voice stressed with urgency. "Large numbers moving fast."

"Shit" Mitchell swore as he ran for his Goliath. The sun had just disappeared seconds earlier.

Mitchell flung himself into the cockpit of his clunker.

"They're approaching from the same direction we came" the soldier's voice spoke again. Men and machines turned to face the gravel ramp that led up to their earth platform on the mountaintop. Within seconds they had arranged themselves to form an ambush u-shape around the approach ramp.

"Focused fire – short controlled bursts" Mitchell commanded his men as everyone prepared for action – the second time in the last fifteen minutes.

Small droplets of sweat pearled on Mitchell's forehead. He was anxious. Battle was upon them and still he did not know what the hell was going on. Flipping to a closed channel, Mitchell wanted to get the full story from Archer – even if it wasn't face to face.

"Ok Archer, this is a secure channel. Keep talking." Mitchell said easily.

"Multiple targets; ten meters" the soldier's voice cut into the private station – the Goliath's communication systems set to always allow incoming transmissions.

"Save it", Mitchell said to Archer, knowing there was no time for chitchat. He would have to wait until after the first onslaught to talk to Archer – if they were still alive.

Again numerous clammy fingers curled around their triggers. Eyes were focusing on their crosshairs.

As Mitchell sat looking at the break in the rock outcrop thirty meters in front of him, a light went on in his head. It was so obvious. The gravel ramp that lead to the platform they were on, was the only way to get to the top. A waist high rock outcrop surrounded the rest of the perimeter. Behind it the mountain dropped a good five meters at a very steep slope before levelling off a bit. If the first wave could be deflected, he could use explosives to leave a big hole where the gravel ramp was. In essence it would trap Hunter-Pack on the mountaintop. But if he had to choose between being alive and trapped, or dead and not trapped…well, the choice was obvious.

"Multiple targets; five meters" the soldier said.

"Ok men, I want effective quick fire. Maintain control and don't waste ammo," Mitchell said to all, expecting the first zergling to hop into view.

A mighty roar cut through the twilight air seconds before the first Ultralisk made its way over the edge, its gigantic mandibles reminiscent of an elephants tusks. Only it was much bigger.

A cold shock shot through the entire force. In packs of four to five, Ultralisks could destroy medium size bases. In training both marines and Goliath operators were taught that there was only one way to win a fight with an Ultralisk, and that was to stay out of it.

Immediately fifteen 105mm cannons boomed as it fired simultaneously – the explosions detonating as one on the impenetrable thick scales. The forceful explosion flipped the beast over backwards, tumbling it down the way it came.

Before the dust had settled, a wave of zerglings, followed by a second Ultralisk came over the edge. Then everything erupted in chaos.

While the marines closest to the approach focused their fire on the zerglings that were within range of posing a threat, the Goliaths opened up full fire on the second Ultralisk. Explosions shook the mighty creature, and armour-piercing rounds chiselled chunks of scale and bone from its body. Never the less it edged forward against the onslaught, letting out a mighty roar as it did.

When it was within range, it swiped one of its mandibles and five marines went flying – their bodies separating at the waist cut in half.

From a distance it looked as if a thunderstorm had erupted on the mountain peak. White flashes followed by rolling thunder from the explosions echoed over the valley. In fact, it seemed as if the gods were waging war on the mountain.

Mitchell was running his mini-gun up and down the lines of zerglings that were snapping at the marines, while firing his cannon in quick succession at the Ultralisk.

The Ultralisk swiped again, this time slicing the closest Goliaths leg clean off. It tumbled over, clumsily breaking its fall with its guns extended forward, like a human would break his fall with his hands. The guns jammed into the earth, and the Goliath rolled over. Lying on his back, the Goliath driver looked up at the beast towering over him. Instinctively he jammed on both triggers, pointing up at the Ultralisk.

The rocks that were forced up the cannon barrel blocked it completely. The resultant explosion ripped half of the fallen Goliath apart, while only slightly fazing the Ultralisk.

This was a slaughter, Mitchell thought to himself, still firing to keep the zerglings at bay while trying to figure out a way to kill the beast.

Major Archer was watching the carnage going on around him. As usual he was unnaturally calm.

His mind was milling around the first Ultralisk that had fallen back over the edge. He was willing to bet his danger-pay that it was still alive and making its way back up the hill. If that happened, he knew the fight was over.

Falling back, Archer made his way behind the laager that was arching around the zerg approach. Running past the firing marines and Goliaths, Archer made his way to the edge of the approach.

As he ran past the last marine, he sensed three zerglings coming at him from the side. In a swift motion he dove over the first one that was coming for his legs. With acute agility he rolled over, firing back over his shoulder as he ran. The round hit the zergling's front paw, and with half his leg gone, a marine quickly finished it off from behind.

The second and third zerglings pursued, and Archer knew he would have to deal with them.

As he approached the edge, he pulled the pin on a high explosive grenade, dropped it, and hopped over the side. His two followers were vaporised.

Scurrying back over the side, Archer scanned the mountainside – his ocular implants allowing him exceptional vision in the dark.

Fifty meters below he could see the mammoth frame of the first Ultralisk making his way back up the hillside.

He knew it would not matter how many bullets he fired with pinpoint accuracy, he would never kill the monster…however - a thought came to him.

Flipping his scope covers up, he aimed. The shot rang out. The beast flinched as the round bounced off its forehead.

Again Archer aimed. Letting out half a breath he zeroed in, and then fired. The round ripped into the Ultalisk's right eye socket and in an explosion of blood its eye popped out.

Roaring in pain, the monster continued on. It might not kill him, Archer thought, but if it is blind, it is much less of a threat.

* * *

There was no soft spot on this monster, Mitchell thought, as the second Ultralisk killed another string of marines with a single blow.

Explosions were deflected off the giant monster. Again it swiped, his time knocking two Goliaths off their feet.

The madness had to stop, Mitchell thought to himself. He could only think of one way to penetrate the creature's thick armour. It was a long shot, and it would probably get him killed, but it was all he got.

"Psycho, Merlin, approach this beastie from the front. Keep firing in his face. I'm gonna knock on the back door."

Psycho and Merlin did not understand, but they knew what it meant to follow orders. Walking their units to the front of the beast, both their guns spitting fire into its face. Other units were following suit. The distraction was working.

With the Ultralisk whipped into a frenzy, it did not notice Mitchell's Goliath approaching from behind.

Mitchell was sweating. He was certain this would cost him his life. The odds of this working are probably less than one in a thousand, he thought to himself.

Closing up on the beast, Mitchell bit his lower lip pushing his controls forward. This was a life or death moment.

* * *

Ten shots and Archer had not been able to take out the left eye. The angle he was firing at was almost impossible. He would have to make it to the other side of the sea of zerglings to make the shot.

Running around was not an option, it would take too long…if he only had his stealth suit now.

"If ifs and buts were cherries and nuts we'd all have a merry Christmas" Archer said to himself, knowing his wishful thinking would get him nowhere.

It would have to be brute force then, he thought to himself. With that he flung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled the pins on two more grenades. Flinging them into the path he was about to follow to the other side, he picked up two C14 Impaler Gauss rifles from fallen marines. Hunkering over, he waited for the two explosions to clear a path for him, then he got up and with both guns blazing, he ran for the other side.

At 1800 rounds per minute, the Impalers were pretty effective in cutting a path open through the zerglings, and with most of the vermin focused on the marines, Archer made it to the other side, sliding in behind the rock formations like a baseball player coming in for a home run.

He quickly swung his rifle back, and looked through the scope. He would have to shoot quickly. The Ultralisk was on the verge of coming over the edge.

* * *

With the Goliaths right "arm" (bearing the 105mm cannon) bent at the elbow, Mitchell rushed towards the distracted Ultralisk's rear. Lifting the arm up, he swung it forward in a punching movement. It slammed into the Ultralisk, hitting the target dead centre.

The barrel of the cannon sank into the monster's asshole.

For a second Psycho imagined an expression of confusion on the beast's face. Then Mitchell pulled the trigger.

A muffled "rumpf" growled in the Ultralisk's rear as the shell exploded. Not only did the explosion destroy Mitchell's cannon, but the shrapnel also severed the chord of nerves that in a mammal would be labelled the spinal chord. The Ultralisks rear legs collapsed underneath it, and Mitchell's cannon pulled free.

Stepping back, Mitchell laughed out load with relief. What had just happened was too insane to believe; yet it had worked.

* * *

By his third shot, Archer managed to destroy the second eyeball of the approaching Ultralisk. Being completely blind, it staggered around. Lobbing his last grenade at the beast, the explosion made it lose its balance. It went tumbling down the mountainside again. Only this time Archer was sure it wouldn't find its way back to Hunter-Pack.

Most of the zerglings had been destroyed by now, and a number of marines were sweeping up the remaining ones.

The rest of the group had their fire focused on the second Ultralisk. Its hind legs were paralysed from Mitchell's daring blow, and so forming a perimeter around it at a safe distance, the remaining marines and Goliaths were pounding it into oblivion. Ten minutes later it collapsed on itself.

They had survived the first wave, Mitchell thought as he opened his canopy to go finish his conversation with Archer. As his bubble raised open, an absolutely evil stench flooded his cockpit.

"Son-offa-…" Mitchell murmured as he climbed down. The barrel of his cannon looked like a sunflower in full bloom.

"Merlin, strip one of those barrels and replace mine" Mitchell said over his radio pointing to one of the fallen Goliaths, as he made his way over to Archer, knowing he had just given his systems officer the worst assignment of his career.

Finding Archer in the artificial light shining from the spread-lights mounted on the Goliaths and combat armour of the marines, took Mitchell a couple of minutes, and he was relieved when he did.

"Right major, where were we…"

Archer looked winded, but Mitchell could not wait any longer.

"So we noticed two approaching airborne units," Archer continued.

"It was a good move going dark, since it was two Protoss carriers. They were marked with the insignia of Miras-Guhl, a dark templar that is a well-known rebel in Protoss circles. He has a lust for power, and will do anything to get it."

"Rumour has it that severe psychic experimentations he had preformed on himself drove him mad" Archer continued.

"Miras-Guhl launched his fighters and destroyed everything except the hatchery. Then his forces deployed and the experimentation on the hive started. In the following days it became clear that he had developed a technology to alter the zerg DNA. The zerg seemed to generate approximately three times faster than normal. Their raised metabolism also seemed to make them exceptionally aggressive. What seemed like the only weak point was that the modified zerg could not exist in daylight. It would seem that they could not cope with the radiation and would literally die within seconds of being exposed to the sun. Therefore they would remain burrowed during the daytime, and come out to hunt during the night.

This base we have here was the second one established, and you can see how quickly it grew. I cannot be sure but I am assuming Miras-Guhl aims to destroy everything using his modified zerg, and I have evidence that he has a secret weapon to eliminate them once their purpose is served. I can't be sure, but I think it is a formula to a chemical compound that holds the secret to their demise. We took some pictures of their science facility and even got some screen shots of the chemical structure of this compound. It's imperative that we get this info to our scientists."

"But if this new type of zerg gets off this planet," Archer continued "it's all over. The only thing Miras-Guhl has not perfected yet is the airborne units - due to their inability to function in daylight. When we left him it seemed they were on the verge of a breakthrough. This is why you haven't really encountered any air units."

Mitchell's head spun.

"Ok, but what happened to our base? Why can't reach them?"

Upon asking Mitchell realised what the answer was.

"Miras-Guhl is jamming all communications. For all we know the base still exists. In fact that was where I was heading when I picked up your signal' Archer replied.

"Oh, and by the way" Archer continued, "This attack was just a probe to check our defences. We saw the same behaviour when they discovered us. Don't think because these vermin are on steroids they're stupid."

Mitchell knew he was right. The zerg was exceptionally aggressive, but no less intelligent than usual.

"What about the first contact we had with the zerg, that was in day time," Mitchell asked.

"Sure, it's possible some of the zerg was generated before they were manipulated. That's probably the ones you ran into."

"Where is Miras-Guhl's forces now" Mitchell asked, hoping the zerg was his only worry for the night.

"I left them at the primary base when I escaped" Archer replied. "At that stage they seemed unaware of our presence, and happily busy with their science experiment."

"Thanks major" Mitchell said as he walked away. That was all he needed to know for now. Next he would have to arrange his defences for the rest of the night. At least now he had some answers, and knew what he was facing.

"Sergeant Ventura, please report – I'm due south of the Ultralisk corpse," Mitchell said over his mike.

Within seconds Ventura was with him.

"How are your men" Mitchell asked.

"Seventy five strong; moral somewhat questionable. After that circus I can't blame 'em" Ventura said calmly. "How 'bout your clunkers."

"Five destroyed, leaving ten. Not great; not by any measure" Mitchell said sourly.

"I want you to set demo charges on the approach slope" he continued. "Make sure you leave a nice big crater so that there is no approach."

"Good thinking – I'm on it" Ventura replied, disappearing into the dark.

"LT, your gun is fixed" Merlin said over the mike. "Oh and by the way – thanks for that."

"What can I say" Mitchell responded, "I owe you a beer."

He knew he would have to do much better to appease his systems officer.

Mitchells Zippo flared. Sucking hard on his cigarette, his thoughts returned to the defence. Making it through the night was his primary concern, but he would have to plan beyond that.

"We've got movement," the voice said over his headset.

Cursing out loud, Mitchell stomped back to his Goliath. As he ascended his unit he looked at the newly fitted cannon. It looked fine, but the stench was still there.

Great, Mitchell thought to himself, next thing they'll be calling me Stinky.

Checking his displays Mitchell shoulders slumped and his jaw dropped open. It seemed as if the mountain slopes were alive with movement.

"How are those charges coming sergeant" Mitchell asked Ventura.

"Yeah I see 'em" Ventura replied over the mike, his breath wheezing.

"Ok everyone listen up" Mitchell said organising the offense. "We're going to form a perimeter around this platform. I want the marines and Goliaths to stagger eight marines – one clunker. Fire down the slope. Don't allow the zerg to claw their way up. And whatever we do, we can't have another Ultralisk up here...Good luck gentlemen."

As the men and machines moved to take their positions, Mitchell walked his unit over to the ramp. Looking over the edge he could see the sea of zerg approaching. Thousands of zerglings, hydralisks and lurkers and hundreds of Ultralisks. Looking at the approaching mass Mitchell remained calm. Too many times had he prepared for death. Too many times had the cold grip of anxiety seized him. He didn't care anymore. He would fight with everything in him – but he would do so with no fear.

"C'mon Ventura, your time is running out" he said calmly over his mike.

"Keep y'r panties on LT – I got this" Venture said as he hunched over the pack of explosives with another marine.

Another pair of marines was fifty meters to Ventura's left setting the second charge. The two charges were perfectly spread to blow the needed crater.

The zerg closed in, their eyes wild and hungry. Mitchell opened fire, shooting over the marine's heads. Two other Goliaths joined him. Their fire was buying the marines precious seconds.

The first Hydralisk came within range of the marines and fired a series of spikes. A cluster of three spikes shot clear through Ventura's partner's head.

Before it could launch a second cluster of spikes, a ball of flame consumed it as an explosive round detonated against its carapace.

Ventura was done. Flicking the red switch he activated the thirty-second countdown. Grabbing his rifle, he punched the red button on his suit twice. The surge of adrenaline accelerated him up the mountainside. He could see the other team also finishing up and starting up the hill. It was now a race up the hill with the bugs in hot pursuit.

Mitchell and his two comrades kept throwing fire down the hill. The zerg were pouring over the two explosive packages.

Oh this is gonna be beautiful, Mitchell thought to himself.

As the marines dove over the edge of the platform, the whole area below them erupted in a ball of flame. The explosion knocked the three Goliaths on their backs. Everybody ducked for cover as dust, rocks and green-grey slime rained down. Fortunately the combat armour was sufficient to protect the marines from the falling debris.

Lying on his back, Mitchell activated his wipers to clean the thick layer of slime from his bubble. He checked his system diagnostics and found all systems at 100. He was relieved not to have a damaged unit at this stage of the game. He could already hear the rest of the men engaging the zerg on the slopes below them.

Activating the hydraulic lift on the Goliath's back, slowly he inched to an upright position again – the lifting system specifically designed for such an occurrence.

Within seconds the three units were on their feet again and Mitchell could assess the situation.

Ventura's explosive had done the job. A deep crater now cut off direct access to their position. On all sides around the perimeter the soldiers were pouring fire down the mountainside to keep the zerg from clawing their way up the steep rock embankments.

From a distance, it looked as if a volcano had erupted and was pouring lava over the sides of the mountain as tracers and explosions rocked the cliffs below.

Mitchell assumed his position between two marines. He recognised the marine on his right as Zander – the guy that was so pissed at Psycho. It appeared that in the first assault, the top section of his combat armour had been ripped apart. Surprisingly he had survived that ordeal, and was now fighting with only the bottom section of his combat armour suit. The suit was specifically designed so that the top and bottom sections could function independently - if the one got damaged, the other half could still work. So there he was; his muscles bulging underneath his standard issued black tee shirt, firing his weapon over the rock-outcrop.

Mitchell only hoped he would have the endurance to work the heavy rifle all night long – not having the benefit of his combat armour.

From below spikes whizzed past, some even slamming into the rock bank.

Now they would have to hang tight, Mitchell thought. Checking his watch he saw that it was only 20h00. At least another ten hours to sunrise. It was going to be a long night.

[Three hours later

Fatigue was setting in. Still gunfire echoed all around and the fighting was as ferocious as when it started. Mitchells mind felt like a computer. Identify target, fire, identify target, fire. Piles of zerg were forming at the base of the rock face, but it helped when an Ultralisk made it to the front of the swarm. When they started receiving fire, they would violently sway their heads about, and with the tightly packed ranks usually cut their own piers to pieces. In addition to this, the shaking of their heads would fling the piles of dead carcasses to the sides.

Mitchell was concerned that if the dead piled up too high, the vermin would use the piles to climb to the top. With that in mind he had ordered his men to allow the Ultralisks to make it to the front to rake the piles flat, or failing that, to save their grenades and to try to use them to blow the piles apart.

On the platform behind the soldiers, the spikes that the Hydralisks fired had already formed a thick black carpet over the hundreds of dead corpses from the first attack.

Since the start of the second fire fight three hours earlier, fatalities among the marines were few. Only five men had been killed by Hydralisk spikes.

Mitchell's main concern, was running out of ammo. Under normal circumstances, considering the amount of action they had seen in the preceding days, they should have been resupplied by now.

Before leaving base camp three days ago, Meeks had confirmed that a detachment of drop-ships were underway, and resupply would take place within 48 hours of departure.

However with the communications down, and seeing that no resupply had happened yet, Mitchell was starting to believe that the base had indeed been destroyed. That meant that even if Hunter-Pack did survive the night, they would only find themselves trapped on the mountain, surrounded by nocturnal creatures that craved their blood and all of that without ammo.

A hydralisk cleared his way through the zergling below. Mitchell saw it and took aim.

'Thip, thip, thip', the three spikes sliced through the air before Mitchell could fire. The spikes popped three holes in his bubble and were impaled in the back of his cockpit inches above his head.

'Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat' his mini-gun answered plucking the Hydralisk's body apart.

Shit that was close, he thought, realising that he should stop worrying about the day of tomorrow – and stay in the moment.

[Four hours later

Mitchell checked his watch. Three o'clock. Three hours to go, but the situation was looking grim. Another twenty-eight marines and two Goliath drivers had been killed. The men were now scavenging ammo from their dead comrades, but even that would not last long. The hits from the hydralisks were becoming more fatal since the platform of zerg corpses allowed them to come much closer than earlier the night. The troops had to remain vigilant, and fire accurate controlled bursts.

Mitchell knew the last three hours before daybreak was going to be excruciating. Their survival was hanging on a thread.

An hour later, the deadly spikes of the Hydralisks were becoming so accurate that the remaining men had to withdraw to the centre of the platform. Forming a circle, they would fire at anything coming over the rock edge. A zergling would hop up and be obliterated; but its body would form a stepping-stone for the next one. Mitchell was confident that they could handle the zerglings, but the moment anything bigger started coming over they would be in serious trouble.

Major Archer was conserving his ammunition. If anything big came over the edge, he knew his pinpoint firing would be essential. He only had ten rounds left, and he was not going to waste it on zerglings or hydralisks.

Looking at his motion detector, Mitchell could not believe the numbers that were still swarming below them. Even though thousands of corpses were piled up against the rocks below, the numbers did not seem to dwindle. It was clear the Miras-Guhl had a formidable weapon, and that Archer was right. If this modified zerg left the planet, there would be no stopping them.

Now and again a Hydralisk would attempt to slither over the rocky outcrop, only to be pounded back by bullets, but the risk was increasing.

Then, to Mitchell's distress, another marine fell. The Hydralisks were getting close enough to fire their spikes over the barrier into the small circle of survivors. A shot rang out as a spike was embedded in the right arm of his clunker. Severing a hydraulic line, the arm dropped limply at its side.

Great, he thought to himself realising it had rendered the gun useless. He would now only be able to rely on his mini-gun. Daylight was less than an hour away – dawn approaching quickly.

It was becoming clear that there was a single point where the vermin were about to break through. It had been the focus of their attack all night. Considering that attacks from the other sides were at the moment few and far between, Mitchell decided to redirect all their firepower to this one point.

"All fire, redirect to my mark", he said painting the area with his lazar. The rate of fire from both the marines and Goliaths increased. Only machine gun fire met the enemy as the Goliaths had run out of 105mm shells.

The zerglings were now hopping over in greater numbers. Slowly but surely the speed at which the bugs were pouring in, was exceeding the speed at which they could be taken down.

Two Hydralisks made it over the rocks. A number of guns redirected fire to the snakes, allowing three zerglings to hop closer undisturbed. When the first one came within striking distance, its face exploded as Archer fired a round into it. The second one was already in the air, when a line of tracer rounds cut it in half, its guts raining over the group.

But for the third one there was no answer. It ploughed into the group. Immediately it clawed a double gash in one of the marine's armour. Another marine panicked, firing wildly at the zergling, cutting two of his comrades down at close range. The zergling turned to the firing marine, leapt and tore his head clear off. As it landed two meters outside the huddled group, Psycho's mini-gun tore it to shreds.

As the group turned back to face the breach in the perimeter, four snakes and a lurker were making their way over, together with about fifteen zerglings.

Death was upon them.

"The reaper is here", Zander said to himself.

"It was an honour serving with you men", Mitchell said over his mike.

"Let's give 'em hell," Ventura screamed, firing into the zerg full with a long burst.

On his motion detector Mitchell could also see the zerg coming up behind them, having clawed their way up to the platform.

It was over. The zerg closed in. As he fired, Mitchell's thoughts turned to the life he had lived. Then he thought of her – how he longed to be with her now...these – his last moments...

A sea of fire obliterated the side of the plain that was covered in the zerg.

For a moment no one comprehended what was going on, until the drop ship with its access ramp hanging open swung in a tight turn overhead, landing between the attacking zerg and Hunter-Pack.

Three wraiths de-cloaked and strafed the mountainside with missile and gunfire. Mitchell could tell it was the Black Diamonds by the insignia on the nose of the ship.

He knew the Black Diamonds were a Rapid Reaction Force – an elite 'off-the-books' detachment reporting to the head of special operations, colonel Daniel Burke.

Never in his life had Mitchell been so happy to see anything resembling mankind, and never in his life had he seen a military outfit swing into action with so much efficiency and deadliness.

In essence the Black Diamonds used the same basic equipment the regular forces, only their units had the latest and newest and sometimes even experimental gizmos and fittings available.

The men were also not ordinary soldiers. You could only become a member of the Black Diamonds by invitation – and only battle hardened crack troops were ever invited.

Mitchell's relief was replaced by awe. A squad of firebats fanned out and created a firestorm pushing the zerg back. They were followed by groups of marines and Goliaths. Overhead the Wraiths were unleashing hell on the bugs below.

Within minutes the Black Diamonds had re-established the perimeter, while the Wraiths kept sweeping the rock face clean of approaching hostiles.

The remainder of Hunter-Pack stood watching, smoke still rising from their barrels. "Well call me a sonoffa bitch," Ventura said, gaping at the their rescuers.

A Goliath came walking over, the numerous antennas and additional electronic gear denoting it as the command and control vehicle.

"Major Hunter, rapid reaction force, spec ops; who's in command here" he asked looking at Archer, recognising him as a ghost specialist.

"He is" Archer said pointing at Mitchell, showing his respect for the way Mitchell had commanded his men over the preceding hours.

"No disrespect, but you guys look like shit" he continued looking at the rag-tag group of men in front of him. Mitchell's clunker's arm hung limp, Zander stood in his torn black tee-shirt with blood running down his arms, the Goliath's glass bubbles were riddled with holes and the grey-green slime had discoloured the marines and Goliaths making their unit colours unrecognisable. In addition to this the terrain around them looked like a slaughterhouse-battlefield. Corpses and chunks of zerg was scattered all over, covered by a thick layer of Hydralisk spikes and in the middle of the mess lay an enormous Ultralisk carcass. The area around the mountaintop was battle scarred and black. It seemed as if hell had descended on the mountain peak throughout the night.

"Yeah" was all Mitchell could say.

"Our orders are to relieve you guys and clear the mountaintop to set up a firebase," Hunter continued.

"But how did you..." Mitchell started.

"A short burst of radio communication broke through yesterday" Hunter interrupted him.

Archer realised it was the same one he had received.

"Lucky for you guys colonel Burke was in the vicinity" Hunter continued, "and decided to check in when he heard three of his ghosts went missing here. When he realised Meeks had not been following protocol and was basically too shit-scared to send anyone in after you, he court-martialled him and called us in. However seeing this place, we'll have to reconsider that firebase idee."

"Take them from the air" Archer said. "As yet they have no air defences. Also, you'll have most of the neighbourhood to yourselves when the sun rises."

"I'll pass that advice on to the colonel" Hunter said not really understanding what Archer meant. "He'll also want to debrief you major – I bet you have some story to tell. How 'bout we give you guys a lift home while we..."

Mitchell's eyes widened as three Protoss carriers came to view from behind the mountain peak due east of their position, the mountains having hidden their signals.

"Three airborne bogeys in-bound, two o'clock," he said recognising Miras-Guhl's ships.

"How can you be sure they're hostile", Hunter asked turning around.

"Long story major" Archer said. "Trust us, they're hostile."

"Is this day never going to end" Psycho sighed.

"There's no way we can take three carriers if they launch their fighters" Hunter said, stating the obvious.

Realising he was their only hope, Archer sprang into action. He would have to close the gap between himself and the carriers fast, knowing they would be in range in less than a minute.

Realising that the slopes below were still crawling with zerg, Archer knew his was a suicide mission.

Sprinting across the plain, he jumped over the rocky outcrop not knowing what to expect. As he hit the steep embankments he slid down, the rock face slippery from zerg fluids.

The explosions from the Wraith missiles had blown the piles of dead corpses away, and touching down on the mountainside, Archer could sprint full speed towards the carriers.

Within seconds his suspicions were confirmed, when the zerg in the area noticed him and started pursuing.

Around him they were closing in. From the mountaintop, the marines and Goliaths were firing in support, but soon he was so far away, they ran the risk of hitting him if they tried to shoot anything close to him.

"House-fly one, House-fly two, engage bogies" the Wraith commander said to his wing men, seeing Archer running out on his own.

"This is major Archer – ghost specialist, that's a negative Wraith commander. I repeat do not engage" Archer gasped over his mike, knowing the carriers would destroy the Wraiths in seconds.

They would launch in seconds, Archer knew. Zerglings were snapping at his heels. He would have to do his thing running.

In mid stride Archer snatched a lockdown round from his combat vest and slid it into his rifle. Coming up on the underside of the carriers, he aimed straight up and fired. Without checking if he hit his target, he grabbed the second round. Firing upwards again, he saw the bluish bubble suspending the first carrier, with the well known electro-magnetic crackle generated by the field.

By the time the second carrier was caught in its trap the third carrier commander was mentally screaming for his fighters to be released to destroy the ghost. His helmsman slammed down on the launch button, but nothing happened. Looking up they realised they were already locked in the deadly trap.

A fraction of a second after firing the last round, the jaws of a zergling crunched through Archers left leg. Falling in the dust he reached for his combat knife. Wildly swinging the blade, the second zergling's teeth crushed his ribcage.

Archer rammed his knife into its head, and as it dropped dead, a number of Hydralisk spikes shot clear through his chest. The zerglings and hydralisks closed in slowly, knowing there was no fight left in the human. Archer tried crawling away, dragging the bloody tethers that were his left leg behind him.

The zerg closed in for the kill, only to be caught in the first rays of morning sun.

From the mountaintop all the marines and Goliaths were firing every available weapon at the three carriers, knowing their window of opportunity would be short-lived. The Wraiths circled the carriers launching volley after volley of missiles into their hulls.

The first carrier exploded, its hull ripping apart, spilling fire and warped metal to the ground. Shortly after, the two other carriers followed suit.

With the carriers down, Mitchell zoomed his display in on Archers last position. He saw him lying on the ground, still reading vital signs from his body. Around him zerg corpses were littered – destroyed by the sunlight.

"Get a drop ship down there" Mitchell hollered to the pilots.

Knowing he was leaking life, Archer spoke over the open channel.

"It was my honour fighting here with you today...my brothers in arms..."

There was a moment of silence.

With the radio crackling, Archer breathed out his last words, "Semper Fi..."

A silent tear rolled down Mitchell's cheek. The ghost was gone.

The mood on the drop ship back to base was quiet. The remainder of Hunter-Pack was exhausted, torn apart. Thirty-eight men in total and eight beaten up Goliaths shook as the drop ships experienced turbulence in the stagger trail formation in which they were flying home.

[Next day

"Your actions were commendable lieutenant" Colonel Burke said. "I'm recommending you for three golden arrows of valour."

Mitchell was silent.

"You don't seem impressed", Burke continued. "I've never been one for medals myself. Maybe you would be more interested in a job offer."

Mitchell looked up. "I'm listening."

"So many men were killed on that mountain. But some survived…some fought their way through…some would not relinquish to death...true warriors. You've stared death in the eyes, and came out the other side."

Burke lit a large cigar.

"Do you know that your action on that hill looks to be the highest body count ratio ever achieved by ground forces…? Lieutenant, you and your men, you're the kind of men I want in my Rapid Reaction Force…."

Burke blew a thick could of smoke into the air.

"What do you say?", he concluded.

"Where do I sign", Mitchell asked.

* * *

**Postscript:**

Major Archer posthumously received the Inter-Galactic medal of honour (The highest decoration in the Terran ranks). His rifle and scope was recovered containing the Miras-Guhl files.

Corporal Mike "Psycho" Sykes was awarded the Silver Cross for bravery with a 'V' for valour and was invited to join the Black Diamonds

Sergeant Sam Ventura was awarded the Gold Cross for bravery with a 'V' for valour and was also invited to join the Black Diamonds

Systems officer Kelvin "Merlin" Gunn was awarded the Bronze cross for bravery and was asked to join the Black Diamonds

Private First Class Rolf Zander was awarded the Broken Arrow medal for injuries sustained on the battlefield and the Bronze Cross for bravery. He was also invited to join the Black Diamonds…and he's still pissed at Psycho

Lieutenant Robert "Meatball" Mitchell was promoted to Captain, received three Golden Arrows for valour and accepted Colonel Burke's offer to serve as squad leader in the Black Diamonds

The remaining men of Hunter-Pack received a variety of citations. Those not suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder accompanied Major Mitchell to Advanced Tactical and Combat Training in preparation for their service in the Black Diamonds.

Miras-Guhl's body was not found in the wreckage of the three carriers.

It is still unclear how the short communication burst got through the Protoss's jamming sequence that alerted both Major Archer and Colonel Burke.

Terra-Gamma became a restricted planet. Terran activities on the planet remain classified.

[Watch this space for the Black Diamond's next mission in **Hunt for the Osiris Sphere** – Please remember to review


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